


To The Wolves

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Attempted Murder, Blood, Character Death, Choking, F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, Infidelity, Loss of Sanity, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Vaginal Sex, Violence, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: With school out for the holiday season, and the latest of Charlie’s plays all wrapped up, Charlie opts to take you and Henry with him into the Adirondacks for a few weeks of rest, relaxation, and writing. His intent is to find solace in the quiet of the surrounding nature, hoping to write his next big play. But as time trickles on, and an unexpected snow storm hits, trapping everyone together for longer than expected, Charlie finds his sanity slipping.
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

“What’s it like? Uh huh.” An elongated pause follows, as the muffled sound of Charlie’s voice can be heard through the receiver, just barely audible to Henry’s ears. He can hear only a few words here and there; words such as ‘retreat’ and ‘writing’. Only when his father’s voice stops does Henry hear you pick back up where you left off. “An island? You really think that’s such a good idea in the winter?”

Henry’s toes wiggle against the edge of the stool that he stands on in front of the bathroom vanity. His little hands grasp at the edge of the counter, eyes wide as he stares back at his reflection in the mirror. A ringing fills his ears, drowning out any and all conversation between you and Charlie, and his head suddenly feels fuzzy, like the room is spinning though he doesn’t dare move.

In the blink of an eye, the surrounding safety of the Brooklyn apartment that he calls home is gone, now replaced by an unfamiliar, more rustic view. A cabin, he realizes. A quick look around reveals blood spattered all along the walls, and a heavy thump overhead redirects his attention. Suddenly, there is screaming, and it sounds very much like your own. You’re yelling for him, screaming his name over and over and over, and then…

Suddenly he’s back in the apartment, though he isn’t on the stool anymore. The reflection of himself is gone, as is the mirror; he finds himself on the floor now, peering up at your face whilst you hover over him with a worried expression.

“Oh, thank God,” you sigh, your head lowering as one hand presses gently against Henry’s cheek, the other still holding the phone to your ear. Henry can hear Charlie frantically asking about him on the other end of the line, but you’re quick to reassure him that everything is fine for the time being. “He’s awake. I, I don’t know what happened. I heard a thud, I came in here and he was just… I need to get off the phone, Charlie. I need to take him to the hospital, I think he was seizing.”

More unintelligible words filter out through the phone, though Henry doesn’t even attempt to strain himself to listen. Instead, he focuses on the vision he’d seen and on the feeling of dread that’s settled itself into the depths of his belly, taking root and blossoming as the minutes tick by.

\-------------------------------

The fluorescent lights of the hospital room overhead are staggeringly bright, causing Henry to squeeze his eyes shut tightly to avoid them altogether. His arm aches at the crook of his elbow from the needle that’s poked and prodded at his veins to extract a vial of blood, the skin surrounding the puncture site has already begun to purple with the bruise that’s formed. He’s been tested and scanned every which way possible, left for overnight observation, and now all that’s left to do is _wait_.

Charlie’s foot taps rapidly against the white linoleum floor that lines the room, fingers drumming a staccato against his thigh that matches in perfect time with the movement of his foot. You reach for him then, letting your hand settle atop his in gesture that’s meant to soothe, though you know it will do nothing for that mind of his. He responds by turning his hand, fingers outstretching to allow your own to lace together with his. A huff of air is expelled through his nose, but the nervous tapping of his foot ceases entirely just as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze in thanks.

Minutes pass, and the only sounds that fill the room are those of nurses chatting, doctors being paged, and various visitors passing by that float in from the hallway just past the threshold of the room’s door. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the attending physician arrives, clipboard in hand. Both you and Charlie rise up from your respective seats, hands slipping away from one another reluctantly as Charlie takes a step forward to take the lead with the conversation.

“Is he alright,” Charlie asks, starting with the most obvious line of questioning.

A wave of relief washes over the two of you when the doctor nods his head in affirmation. “He’ll be just fine.” A rustling of papers sounds when he flips through the file in his hand, taking a moment before he speaks again. “It looks as if little Henry here experienced a seizure, but we’ve run just about every test under the sun and we can’t find any underlying condition, and given that this is the first instance where he’s had one, I think we’re safe to let him return home.”

Charlie’s shoulders slump in visible relief just as he exhales a large breath of air. You reach over with your hand and rub along his spine in a soothing gesture, one that he’s silently grateful for. “And the trip,” you ask, intervening while Charlie steps away to gather up Henry’s clothes so he can dress for discharge. “Are we still alright to take him?”

The hand that’s lifted the papers on the clipboard now pulls back to let them fall into place once more just as the physician nods his head in approval. “Yes, I think that should be alright. Just make sure to keep an eye on him, watch for any changes in his behavior, mannerisms, so on and so forth. Though I _do_ think this was nothing more than a one off. Little Henry here should be _just fine_.”

\-------------------------------

“I still can’t believe you’ve gone and rented a cabin on _an island_ , of all places.” You shake your head in disbelief, a scoff accompanying the gesture.

Charlie hums, an amused smile gracing his features in immediate response whilst his hand grips the wheel of the car that he currently maneuvers through rural upstate New York. “I told you, this is meant to be a retreat. Besides, you’ll be able to get back and forth by boat. Or, if the lake freezes over while we’re there, there’s a ski mobile you can use.” Another scoff sounds just to his right, and his head swivels, eyes avoiding the road for only a moment. “ _What?_ ”

Your shoulders rise and fall into a shrug, head once again shaking from side to side. “I just don’t think it’s very _safe_ , is all. Especially given what’s just happened with Henry.”

Another hum sounds, the noise emanating from the depths of Charlie’s throat. “It’s the only place that’s renting this time of year.”

 _Of course it is_. Because why would anyone else in their right mind rent a cabin in the mountains of upstate New York in the middle of winter?

It’s almost as if Charlie can read your mind. He reaches for you, his hand sliding off the wheel in favor of resting atop your thigh, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be fine. If we need something, _I’ll_ go out and get it, and you and Henry can stay put. Deal?”

Exhaling a breath through your nose, you concede with a simple and quick nod of your head. “Deal.”

In the back seat, Henry toys around with his Nintendo Switch, the buttons clicking furiously as he plays one of his many games. Your hand reaches for the one that’s still resting comfortably on your thigh, and you grasp it just as Charlie overturns his to lace his fingers with your own.

“You two are going to love it up here,” Charlie says just as he lifts your joined hands up to press his mouth to your knuckles in a chaste kiss. “I just know it.”

\-------------------------------

The island is dotted with conifers, most of which surround the cabin that sits alone on the property, sheltering it from the breeze that rolls in off of the water. You hug your coat tighter around you with one hand whilst the other rests against Henry’s shoulder, ushering him along with you up the walkway towards the front door of the cabin. Up ahead, Charlie slides the key into the deadbolt, listening to the metallic click as it unlocks, allowing him to push the door open to let each of you step inside.

The cabin’s interior is small and cozy, intimate is the word Charlie had used to describe it; an old, worn fabric couch is pressed up against one of the walls directly across from a small, outdated television. The carpet is equally outdated and worn with a pathway stomped down into the fibers thanks to years of foot traffic that’s crossed back and forth within the room. The wooden paneling adds to the warm, rustic feeling of the cabin, as does the antler light fixture above.

“Well,” you start, trailing off to let your eyes wander just as Charlie turns to shut the door behind you, “intimate is certainly _one way_ to describe it…”

Charlie laughs, crossing the space to where you stand, his arms wrapping around your middle just as his lips press against your cheek. “You’re the one who’s always saying I’m never home enough. Now you won’t be able to get rid of me these next few weeks.” Another kiss is deposited onto the side of your face before he steps away to collect your bags. “You and Henry go on and explore, I’ll get everything put away.” Henry’s already halfway up the stairs that lead to the second floor before the words leave Charlie’s mouth, and with a soft chuckle, you follow behind him, eager to take a peek at the bedrooms.

The tour of the house is a quick one, and with your rooms all established, you and Henry make your way outside to get acquainted with your surroundings. Charlie, on the other hand, has opted to stay behind in the home, wanting to get started on his long awaited planning. Carefully, he sets his laptop down atop the old mahogany desk in the cabin’s cramped office and opens it to access a fresh, blank document.

His gaze flits over the top of the laptop to the window where you and Henry roam just outside. Laughter floats in through the panes, and with a smile, his gaze lowers back down to the screen where the cursor blinks repeatedly.

His hands hover over top of the keyboard, whilst he waits for the ideas to come to him.

And he waits.

And he waits.

 _And he waits_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated the tags for this fic specifically for the latter half of chapter two. It's more of a precaution than anything else, but I do still want to bring your attention to that. Please take note.

_ TWO WEEKS LATER _

_ It’s impossible to fathom a storm of this magnitude popping up seemingly overnight and yet here we are. There was no evidence of this storm on the radar just yesterday and now we’ve all woken up to nearly a foot on the ground. And in the Adirondacks, they’re getting hit much worse, of course, with an estimated three feet on the ground already and another four or five on the way. This is shaping up to truly be the storm of the century. _

The news broadcaster drones on and on in the background as Henry perches himself up on the couch facing the window. He opens his mouth to expel warm air onto the cold window pane, fogging up a spot just long enough for him to draw a little dinosaur with his index finger. Outside the snow continues to fall, blanketing the surrounding forest in a plush layer of white. Beside him, you sit, eyes focused on the screen as the meteorologist continues to give their report on what to expect in the coming hours with the sudden emergency of the winter storm.

“Looks like we may wind up spending the holidays here after all,” you murmur to Henry who pays no mind at all to the severity of the situation.

At least you and Charlie had planned for an event such as this. You’ll have plenty of food to get you through until the roads are once again clear.

In the office, Charlie types away, his fingers flying furiously over the keyboard of his laptop. The sound carries into the living room and can be heard even over the sound of the news report that drones on and on about the storm.

Pushing yourself up and off of the couch, you cross the room in no time at all, hovering now at the threshold of the living room and nearby office. The wooden trim of the door frame is smooth against your palm when you reach for it, allowing yourself to lean into it only slightly as your hip cocks to one side. “I’m going to get dinner started,” you say softly, wanting to alert him to the fact that he’ll be needing to put a pause to his writing soon enough.

Charlie gives a noncommittal grunt in return, his back remaining to you whilst the fingers that had once flew so quickly over the keyboard now take a pause before continuing their speedy taps against the keys. Your own fingers tap lightly against the door frame before you give up, resigning to the fact that Charlie is far too engrossed in his work to even hold the smallest conversation. With a quick pivot, you make your exit to the kitchen to begin dinner.

And still, the weather reports carry on.

\------------------------

At dinner, Charlie is unusually quiet, though there doesn’t seem to be any loss where his appetite is concerned. Henry, on the other hand, picks at his stew, dipping his spoon into the thick liquid over and over again as if trying to gain some sort of courage to eat it. He’s had this very dish plenty of times, you know that he likes it, and yet tonight it doesn’t appear as though he wants it.  _ Kids _ , you think to yourself with a slight smile and shake of your head.

But Charlie takes stock of the way your eyes have continually slid to where Henry sits, and it isn’t long until he’s directing his son to eat. “Henry,” he says, his voice stern. “Eat your food.”

His son huffs in response, setting his elbow onto the table and leaning his cheek into his open hand, the other once again dipping the spoon into the stew. Charlie watches as Henry lifts his spoon and then turns it to allow the thick mixture to gloop back down into his bowl with a plop. “I’m not very hungry.”

A heavy breath is exhaled through Charlie’s nose, and already his patience has worn thin—unusual, even for him. “Eat your food, Henry, I won’t ask again.”

_ It’s odd _ , you think whilst you watch the exchange unfold in real time before your very eyes,  _ he’s never this impatient this quickly with Henry _ . Not without there being an external stressor. And here, there should be none, save for the storm that’s passing overhead, but even that didn’t seem to phase Charlie earlier when the two of you had woken up this morning.

There is a slight stomp from beneath the table that emanates from where Henry sits, and a whine of protest sounds before Henry reiterates his feelings a second time. “ _I’m not hungry_.”

A large hand slams down onto the tabletop abruptly, startling both you and Henry. The act causes Henry to jump in his seat, the hand holding the spoon flicking just enough to send a spoonful of the stew flying through the air, the trajectory of the food stopping only once it meets the floor with a soft splat. Your widened gaze immediately shifts over to where Charlie sits, his nostrils flared and face red with the anger that’s bubbling up to the surface.

“ _ I’m not asking _ ,” he hisses. “ _ Eat _ .”

“Charlie—”

“ _No_.” He’s quick to cut you off, his focus now leaving his son who’s finally—albeit reluctantly—begun to eat the food that’s set out in front of him. “No,” he says again as he looks to you. “You went out of your way to make this meal and he’s going to eat it.”

Your brows furrow, but you say nothing, instead merely nodding your head in a silent reply. Charlie’s shoulders slump as if to release a tension he’d been holding the entirety of this exchange. It’s as if nothing’s happened at all when he returns his attention to his food, digging in just as his son does now. But now it’s you who has no appetite, and leaving your spoon in the bowl, you lean back in your seat and exhale a soft sigh as you wait for both Charlie and Henry to finish their meals.

\------------------------

An hour later a snowball sails through the grey sky, bursting into an explosion of powder when it hits the sleeve of the puffed jacket that you wear.

“Got you,” Henry exclaims in victory just as he raises two gloved fists into the air.

“Oh, but you forget, I still have a snowball of my own,” you taunt in reply with a playful smirk, passing the snowball from one gloved hand to the other.

With wide eyes and a gasp, Henry turns and begins to dart off in the opposite direction, doing his best to hurriedly make his escape from the snowball that’s now launched his way. It’s like watching in slow motion as the compacted snow lobs up into the air, arcing until it finally begins to come down, landing directly onto the crown of Henry’s head. Much like it had done when his snowball had hit your arm, yours bursts into fine powder, covering the red knitted hat that he wears, and the two of you laugh and laugh at the direct hit.

From the window of the small office, Charlie watches the scene unfold; where there is amusement and joy expressed so effortlessly on both yours and Henry’s faces, Charlie’s features read of disdain and annoyance. His hands have balled up into fists at his sides, and his breathing has increased with short, rapid breaths, as if preparing himself mentally for a fight that will not come. He’s angry and he’s not sure why, though he doesn’t dare question the feeling. As strange as it is, it feels oddly  _ right _ , this rage flowing through his veins.

By the time that both you and Henry burst into the cabin, Charlie has returned to his desk, his fingers once more flying across the keyboard. He winces at the sound of both of you stomping your feet at the entrance way to rid your boots of snow before slipping them off and padding further into the room. The rustling of your jackets can be heard, followed by your voice as you direct Henry to warm himself up in the bath.

“I’ll make us hot chocolate once you come back down,” he hears you say, your words followed by the sounds of Henry’s heavy footsteps as he darts upstairs to draw himself a bath. “Not too hot,” you call up to him, your voice closer now. Charlie winces again, knowing now that your intention is to pester him.

Your fingers tap lightly against the wooden door before you push it open to reveal your working partner as he types, types, types away furiously, desperate to get out the ideas that swirl about in that brilliant mind of his.

“Hey.” He does his best to ignore the greeting, wanting nothing more than to focus on his work, but you just cannot leave well enough alone, can you? You just have to push and push and push until he can take it no more. “Henry and I are going to warm ourselves up with some hot chocolate once he’s done with his bath if you’d like to join us.”

Your voice is hopeful, and he doesn’t even have to look at you to know that you’re smiling, doing your best to put on a happy front though you can tell by the tension that has once again returned to his shoulders that he’s in no mood.

The second that his document autosaves, Charlie reaches for the screen of his laptop and slams it closed before swiveling in his chair to face you as you continue to stand in the doorway. His hands steeple together in front of his mouth, elbows resting against the arm of the leather office chair. There is a moment of silence that follows, but the way that he is looking at you now, you know,  _ you know _ that he is displeased to say the least.

“Every time that you come in here, whether it be to pester me about dinner or the hot chocolate—whatever is you’ve come to talk to me about—you’re breaking my concentration. And each time that you break my concentration, it makes it harder and harder for me to regain my train of thought, which in turns makes my work even less satisfactory.”

Your brows furrow, and a sick feeling takes hold as you listen to Charlie speak. Never, in all the time that the two of you have been together, has he spoken to you like this. And yet, he continues…

“Let’s make a new house rule. Whenever you hear me in here, whether you hear me typing, whether you  _ don’t _ hear me typing—whatever the  _ fuck _ you think I am doing in here, whenever I’m in here, you  _ stay the fuck out _ . Got it?”

It’s automatic, the way that your head bobs in response. Your mind doesn’t even have a chance to reel and catch up with what’s just occurred. The ceasing of the running water from overhead captures your attention, and without so much as a verbal response to Charlie—who’s already turned his back to you to once again open his laptop—you pivot and make your way into the kitchen to busy yourself and help process what’s just occurred.

\------------------------

“I’m sorry.” The words are mumbled into the dark when Charlie finally slides into bed beside you.

It’s almost immediate the way his presence seems to evaporate the chill of the room, the heat of his body radiating hotly against your own when he presses himself against you.

“I don’t know what got into me,” he murmurs, the words muffled against your skin when his lips bump along the edge of your jaw. One of Charlie’s hands wanders along your side, stopping only momentarily once it reaches your hip. He gives a gentle squeeze before his hand lowers further until he grasps lightly at your knee. Depositing a kiss to your mouth, he soon pulls back and simultaneously parts your legs to allow his broad frame to settle between them.

Charlie’s hands find your hips once more, this time to hook his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Slowly, he works them down, down, down your legs, following each movement with a kiss against bare skin until your cunt is finally revealed to his ravenous gaze.

There is no acknowledgement of his apology, and he doesn’t ask for your forgiveness. Instead, the two of you opt to take another, more physical approach tonight.

Large palms press against the insides of your thighs until your legs are separated as far as you can comfortably manage, and when Charlie leans in closer, he strategically bumps his nose against your clit once, twice, three times until he feels your hand fly down to curl your fingers into his hair. He hums in satisfaction when his lips wrap around the tiny nub, his tongue flicking against it whilst he suckles.

A soft gasp is inhaled, and the hand that has not found its way into his hair now reaches behind you to press against the solid wooden headboard. Your toes curl at the sensation when he sucks just a little harder, and your cunt clenches around nothing. It’s then that you exhale a whine loud enough for only Charlie to hear.

His mouth leaves you for just a moment, and before you have any opportunity to protest the lack of stimulation, he licks a broad stripe up along your slick cunt. When he pulls his mouth away again, he replaces it with fingers that now run lazily up and down between your folds. Your own hand reaches for him, fingers curling and uncurling in his hair lazily when his lips encircle your clit a second time just as he delves two thick fingers into you.

Charlie listens to every whimper, every soft moan, allowing them to guide his movements whilst the pads of his fingers drag along the soft, velvety interior of your cunt. His tongue and lips are merciless, alternating between sucks and licks as he draws you closer and closer to your release. The hand that grasps his hair tightens, and this combined with the small tremors that begin to shake your thighs tell him all he needs to know. His fingers work quicker, pumping in and out of you at a rapid pace now, the slick squelch of the movement filling the room.

You lift your free hand to slap it over your mouth, muffling the moans that have begun to leave you so freely now. He is relentless, stopping only once he feels the familiar warm, wet gush that now covers his hand and forearm. Only then does he pull his fingers from you—but his tongue is not done just yet. Charlie laps at your quivering cunt like a starved man, desperate to consume every last drop until he is sated, until _you_ are sated.

When you finally push insistently against the crown of his head, far too overstimulated to allow him to continue, only then does he pull back. You watch as Charlie, illuminated only by the moonlight that filters in through the window, lifts his fingers to his mouth to suck them clean of your slick.

He reaches for you soon after, grasping the hem of the shirt that you wear, and pulling it up and off of you as you extend your arms up to aid in its removal. You lie before him, bared to his hungry gaze, and for a moment he doesn’t dare to move. Instead, he allows his eyes to rake over your form, taking in the way the moonlight highlights every inch of skin so perfectly.

For a moment, he seems beguiled by you.

And then, as if the trance has been broken, he pulls away just long enough to rid himself of the black sweatpants he’d sported upon his arrival to bed.

A low rumble of approval sounds from deep within his chest when you extend a hand outward to wrap your fingers around his hardened cock. It’s slow, your movements, but he allows you to take your time, to worship him every bit as much as he’s just done to you. Your hand pushes down towards the base before gliding back up, and when you reach the head, you squeeze a little firmer, pulling another sound of approval from him—and this time a gentle thrust of his hips. Precum beads at the tip, glistening in the moon’s light, and your thumb expertly swipes across the head to distribute it evenly along the velvety skin.

“Charlie,” you whisper to him.

You needn’t say more. He can hear the desperation in your voice, he knows that you need him every bit as much as he needs you in this moment. Just as your hand pulls away, your legs fall open once more, this time allowing Charlie’s broad frame to settle between them. A soft sigh is exhaled, your warm breath puffing against Charlie’s face when the head of his cock brushes along your slick folds.

His mouth slants over your own, and when he feels the head of his cock catch on your entrance, he thrusts his hips forward to sink deep into your awaiting warmth. The moan that rips free from the back of your throat is eagerly swallowed down by Charlie just as his tongue pushes past your own to lick into your mouth, seeking to taste every inch of you tonight.

It’s slow at first, the movement of his hips, as if he’s attempting to make up for his abhorrent behavior earlier in the evening with the tender caresses of both his wandering hands that grasp at every exposed piece of skin as well as the unhurried motion of his cock.

The rhythm of his hips increase in pace when he pulls back to look down at you, watching the expression of pleasure that contorts your features so pleasantly. Your hands reach for him, fingers curling against his biceps to feel the muscles rippling beneath your touch. You are beautiful like this, he thinks to himself, your jaw slack and eyes shut so tightly as your back arches up into him.

There is a second thought that creeps into his mind, however…

It hits him with full force just as his hand creeps up along your torso, pushing up past your sternum until he encircles the front of your neck. Your head tips back, inviting him to carry on with his plan, having done this with him plenty of times before.

If only you knew…

_ Do it _ , the voice at the forefront of his mind whispers to him. A _ little tighter _ , it says whilst he begins to press his fingers into your skin.  _ More _ .  _ Harder _ . It’s impossible to ignore, this voice, and the more fervently his hips drop into your own, the tighter and tighter his hand constricts around your neck.

He’s so lost in these sudden thoughts that he doesn’t register the way that your brow furrows in momentary confusion when his hand squeezes too tightly. It isn’t until you begin to flail against him, fingers clawing wildly at both his arms and the hand at your neck, that he finally snaps back into the moment.

Immediately, his movements cease and his hand leaves your neck to allow your burning lungs to fill with much needed oxygen. Charlie’s eyes are wide, mirroring back the confusion that’s written so plainly on your face when you scramble away from him with your hand held protectively against your neck.

“Get out,” you hiss when you manage to catch your breath at last. The words are rough, undoubtedly the result of his latest actions.

Charlie sits on his haunches, stock still, unsure of himself—unsure of what’s just occurred.  _ That wasn’t him _ … Of course it wasn’t… He would  _ never _ .

Except that it was, and he had.

He’s at a loss, but he says nothing when he finally slides off of the bed to collect his sweatpants from the floor. There is nothing that he can say in this moment that will correct what he’s just done.

He  _ will _ try, but he knows that time will come later.

Only when you’ve made it clear that you’re ready to hear him will he make the effort.

Running an anxious hand through his hair once he’s stepped into his sweats, he turns and steps out of the room, leaving you to close and lock the door behind him as he makes his way downstairs to the couch.


	3. Chapter 3

**TWO DAYS LATER**

“I’m sorry.”

The words sound every bit as he feels saying them: hollow, empty, devoid of any and all emotion. Charlie’s lips press into a thin line while his eyes flutter closed, and he inhales a deep, steadying breath.

“Why are you even bothering,” asks a familiar voice to his right.

Outside, yet another snowball fight rages, the sounds of Henry’s echoing screams and laughter still managing to make their way into the cabin. The breath that had just been sucked in is exhaled slowly through Charlie’s nose, but any and all concentration is lost as his eyes open once more to look over at the figure who’s leaned against the nearby wall, just in front of the bookcase.

Nicole peers back at him, her arms folded over her chest, hair still cropped short just like he remembered. She’s still sporting that scowl that had become such a permanent fixture towards the dissolution of their marriage. “She isn’t going to forgive you—”

“Yes, she will,” Charlie spits back viciously. “It was an accident, a slip-up. You know,” he says, rising up from his seat to begin pacing the width of the room, “I don’t even know why I’m attempting to explain myself to you.” He laughs humorlessly, a hand lifting to drag his finger through his hair, roughly tugging at the strands. “ _ You’re not even here! _ ”

Nicole has the audacity of looking smug, and for a fleeting moment, Charlie finds that he’d love to wipe that expression clean off of her face. But then, she speaks…

“No. But you want me to be.”

There is a heavy silence that hangs in the air, the unspoken truth pressing onto Charlie’s shoulders like a great weight. He says nothing, but his steps halt immediately, and he turns to face where Nicole remains rooted in place, that same look of smugness etched onto her features.

“No…”

“ _ Yes _ ,” she quickly asserts, now pushing herself away from the bookshelf to take steps in his direction. “You know that I wouldn’t have allowed for that little display at dinner.  _ I _ wouldn’t have allowed Henry to behave that way.  _ I _ would have backed  _ you _ .”

Nicole’s steps only halt once she is mere inches from where Charlie stands, his head shaking from side to side in automatic response to her words. “No.” This time, the word is hushed, barely audible.

Nicole hears, of course, and she nods, a Cheshire-like grin spreading across her face. “ _ Yes _ .”

The door to the cabin bursts open abruptly, pulling Charlie’s attention away from Nicole just as Henry bounds his way into the entryway with you tailing close behind. Swiftly, Charlie turns his head to look for Nicole, but once again, he finds himself alone in the small office space. The familiar sound of Henry’s snowshoes falling heavily by the door sounds, followed by short, swift steps as Henry hastily makes his way towards the stairs to go up to his room in order to change into dry, warm clothes. The front door closes to stave off the snow and the chill, and now it is your turn to slip off your shoes, setting them neatly beside the door before taking hold of Henry’s which have been carelessly tossed aside, to place them next to your own.

When you look up, you find Charlie openly staring at you from where he is rooted within the cabin’s office. Neither of you exchange a single word, though you think you  _ might _ be able to detect a hint of remorse for the previous night’s indiscretion in the expression that he wears. Even after your gaze has broken away from his own, he continues to observe you as you remove your jacket and hang it up on the rack beside the doorway just before you exit out of the room and into the kitchen to get lunch started. Upstairs, a thud can be heard, and Charlie knows without a shadow of a doubt that Henry is playing with one of the toys he’s brought with him on this trip.

***

Darkness once again descends upon the Adirondacks, the cabin in which you share with both Charlie and Henry the only beacon of light for miles, save for the stars above. A sink turns out, water gushing out into the basin as Charlie sticks the bristles that already carry a glob of toothpaste on it beneath the spray momentarily before beginning to brush his teeth. Downstairs, you and Henry are working on a jigsaw puzzle of a tropical landscape—a stark contrast to the snowy conditions that surround the cabin.

The toothpaste foams around the brush, collecting in the corners of Charlie’s mouth whilst he brushes, only ceasing to exist once he bends and collects water in his mouth to rinse, disposing of it all down the sink’s drain. When he straightens his posture again, a hand outstretched in anticipation of setting the brush back into its designated holder, his eyes catch the sight of a familiar face in the reflection of the mirror.

Unlike the last time she made her presence known to him, she is in something far more provocative, eliciting a memory of a time long since past. It is lacy and emerald green—his favorite on her, he recalls—showing off her curves and leaving little to the imagination. There is a familiar twitch as his cock stirs to life just as he turns around to face her. Unlike their last encounter, she is smiling now.

“What are you doing,” he whispers, the words deafening to his own ears in the small space.

He watches wordlessly as she takes a step towards him, a slender, pale shoulder rising and falling into a nonchalant shrug whilst her other hand lifts to gently trace the strap down to the cup of her bra. “Don’t you like it?”

Charlie swallows harshly, remaining mute in the face of the question posed to him.  _ Of course _ he likes it, but  _ he shouldn’t _ . This relationship has long since been severed. She shouldn’t be here.  _ He shouldn’t want her here _ , and yet…

She’s reaching for him, her fingers encircling his wrist to draw his hand towards her, settling it against her hip once she’s close enough to reach. He gives a tentative squeeze, feeling both lace and soft skin beneath his fingers. A rush of air leaves his lungs, expelling out into the room with a shakiness that he feels in his very core. Charlie guides Nicole closer until he feels the familiar sensation of her body pressing against his, her hands now lifting to skim along his chest.

“We shouldn’t,” he whispers, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the bathroom.

Nicole’s mouth turns up once more in yet another lovely smile. “No,” she agrees, though she makes no attempt at backing away, “but you want to.”

“ _ Yes. _ ” It’s frightening, he thinks, how quick he is to make such an admission. But now that one confession has left his mouth, he cannot dam up the others that now flow freely. “I miss you so much. I…” Charlie swallows thickly, voice wavering. “I regret the fight that night. It was so fucking stupid. It didn’t even matter, none of it mattered, I know that now.”

A finger presses to his lips, effectively halting the words that just cannot seem to stop. “It’s okay,” she assures him. “I’m here now. I’ll make it all better.” Her finger slips away from his mouth, the soft pad of it now trailing along his jaw, down his neck and back onto his chest. “Do you want me to make it all better?”

“ _ Please… _ ”

Nicole leans up and Charlie’s lips part on instinct just as her own gently ghost along his. He can feel a skip in the beating of his heart, fingers inadvertently digging into the supple skin of her hips. He knows this is wrong, knows they shouldn’t be doing this. Christ, you’re right downstairs. But… She’s been gone for  _ so long _ , and he misses her  _ so much _ . Perhaps, if he is being completely honest with himself, he never really got over her at all.

“You know what you have to do,” she murmurs, peering up at him through her lashes.

Again, his heart’s steady rhythm falters, though this time it is in response to the realization that she is right rather than the familiar feel of her body held firmly in his grasp. “I do,” he whispers in response before slotting his mouth over her own, eyes fluttering closed and stealing kiss after kiss until it feels as if they have jointly consumed all of the oxygen within the small space. Only then does he break the kiss.

With his eyes still closed, Charlie rests his forehead against Nicole’s, taking a moment to simply breathe. “I love you,” he whispers to her mournfully. When he receives no response, he pulls his head back and opens his eyes, only to be met with an unexpected and disgusting sight.

Gone is the woman he’d come to love, replaced by a gruesomely decomposing version of her. Where her skin was once smooth as porcelain and soft to the touch, it is now gangrenous, rotting from her frame and exposing discolored bone in various places. He is horrified, shocked and bewildered and yet… He knew better. He knew this wasn’t Nicole, knew that it couldn’t possibly be.  _ Nicole isn’t here _ . No, Nicole isn’t here just like she isn’t in the Brooklyn apartment they once shared together. Nor is she in her mother’s home in West Hollywood, or anywhere else for that matter. The only place that Nicole calls home now is in the small plot of land purchased nearly a year and a half ago in Hollywood.

_ “Grand View Memorial,” Sandra sniffles, her inconsolable sobs long having petered out into the occasional hiccup. “They’re burying her tomorrow.” It isn’t until this sentence leaves her mouth, finally spoken out loud, that the sobs return, heavier than before. Tomorrow Sandra says goodbye to her daughter one final time. _

_ Charlie reaches for her, settling his hand atop her knee and giving it a gentle squeeze to let her know that he is here for her. Sandra knows that he, too, is grieving. Though their marriage had since dissolved, and even in spite of the nasty custody battle that had ensued, the pair had managed to repair their relationship, restoring it until they were once again friendly with one another. He thought, maybe, that one day they might even rekindle what had died so horribly in the year prior. But now those hopes had been dashed, fallen victim to the truck driver that had plowed so carelessly into the car that Nicole was driving. _

_ Tomorrow it will be he, too, that says a final goodbye, forced to come to terms with a love that will never be again. _

_ Nicole is gone. _

Except…

Nicole is  _ here _ … Whereas she was once beauteous and oh, so lovely, now she is decaying and outright horrifying  _ and she is advancing on him _ .

Charlie’s back thuds against the bathroom door, and the realization that he can go no further drops into the pit of his stomach like the heaviest weight. “No,” he calls out, hands lifting and eyes closing to shield himself from the grotesque image before him. “No, stop!  **_STOP!_ ** ”

A knock sounds from behind him, the sound startling him and causing him to whirl around to face the door. “Charlie?” Concern laces your voice, and when he turns back, wide-eyed and heart racing, he finds that he is alone once more in the bathroom. “Charlie, are you okay?”

He can  _ feel _ the rapid beat of his heart as it hammers wildly against his ribcage. He thinks, maybe, that he might be having a heart attack.

Another knock sounds just before the handle to the bathroom door jiggles with your attempt to open it. “Charlie, open the door. I need to know that you’re alright.”

Silence follows, and then…

“ _ Charlie! _ ”

Your final call for him seems to snap him out of the shock that had taken hold of his body and rendered him temporarily frozen. Charlie unsticks himself from the spot in which he stands, crossing the small distance to the door, unlocking it to pull it open. You’re  _ so close _ , feet barely on the other side of the threshold, and the concern that is etched onto your features only thaws that shock all the more. He reaches for you, arms encircling your frame to draw you closer until his face is buried in your neck and his shoulders are shaking with the sobs that leave him so freely.

It takes your mind a moment to catch up with what’s occurring, but much to his relief, your own arms wrap around his broad frame to hold him close.

“I’m so sorry,” he cries, the words muffled against your skin.  _ I never meant to hurt you _ , he wants to say, but all that comes out is a strangled sob. He has so much to apologize for now, but he cannot seem to find the strength to expand on such a simple statement.

You lift a hand to gently run it through his unruly waves, just as he likes in his moments of distress, whilst you continue to hold him close. “It’s okay,” you whisper to him in reassurance. “I know you didn’t mean it. I know.”

The acceptance of his vague apology, the forgiveness that you are gifting him with, coupled with the sudden appearance of Nicole… It’s all too much for him to bear. Slowly, he slinks down to the floor, bringing you down with him as the two of you continue to cling to one another, you whispering reassurances to him while Charlie continues to empty himself of the emotions he’s allowed himself to bottle up for far too long.


End file.
